On Holiday
by VintageVictorian
Summary: Sherlock does not approve of John's vacation wardrobe.


**Author's Note: Photo prompt minifill from sherlockbbc-fic.  
**

"Sweet fancy Moses," Sherlock whispered.

"What's wrong?" John asked.

"I - I didn't think it was possible..." Sherlock stammered, gaping.

"That what was possible?"

"For me to find you... forgive me, John, ... er, unattractive." Sherlock inspected John from head to toe. "Congratulations. You have just rendered this portion of the sidewalk a fashion crime scene."

Sherlock went on. "Just because we're on holiday doesn't mean you have to dress like an American tourist. I didn't even know you owned clothes such as...these."

John was accustomed to Sherlock's offhand, offensive remarks about his less-than-brilliant intellect. However, insults against his wardrobe were a new low.

They had arrived in Brighton earlier this morning and located a hotel. Sherlock had left their room before John did; they had agreed to meet at the coffee shop near the hotel after John finished unpacking and changing his clothes.

John looked down at his outfit. He saw nothing at all amiss with his plaid button-down shirt, denim jeans turned up at the bottoms, and white trainers. He also carried a satchel, the long strap going diagonal across his chest, and to top it all off, a white fedora.

"See here, Sherlock -" he began, his feelings wounded.

Sherlock cut him off. "No, no, don't be like that... but John, I really cannot allow this attire. We must attend to this charge of felonious fashion at once. I am hereby arresting you and taking you to the nearest menswear store."

Sherlock deftly snapped John's photo with his mobile. "We'll just take this as your 'mug shot,' then."

John attempted to protest. "Look, there is no way I'm letting you -"

"Terribly sorry, John, but I must insist. It's time we drape you in couture. No more of this off-the-rack, jumble-sale dreck. Now that we're a couple, you're a reflection on me, and I cannot permit myself to be judged anything less than a clothes snob. I have a reputation to uphold, you know."

Sherlock spun around and began striding down the sidewalk. John had no choice but to follow, calling out, "This is absurd. I'll not have you dressing me. I'm a grown man! I can dress myself!"

"_I_ should do so, by the looks of things," Sherlock threw over his shoulder.

They continued walking at a fast pace, John struggling to keep up. Sherlock turned into the first upscale men's clothing store that met his high standards.

Sherlock ignored the salesman's greeting and abruptly asked, "Do you have a tailor on the premises?"

"Yes, sir; of course."

"Excellent. My companion here requires a new outfit. Here is my card; expense is no concern."

"Anything in particular you're looking for, sir?"

"Yes. Make him look like me." John had the impression that Sherlock briefly preened for the salesman, showing off his flawless sense of style. "You have two hours."

Sherlock left the store. John exhaled sharply, feeling the familiar mix of irritation and fascination that Sherlock so often caused. He removed his sunglasses and stored them in his satchel.

For the next hour, John suffered through the trying-on of countless ensembles, relying on the salesman's expert assistance for color and cut. He was measured and fitted. The pieces were swept into the back room where the tailor was instructed to prioritize this particular order. The salesman located a nearby shoe store, and John was presented with a fine pair to match his new duds.

He was in the process of fastening the top two buttons of the jacket when he heard Sherlock's voice outside the dressing room.

John gave himself one last glance in the mirror and smiled at his reflection. This was going to be fun. He was on holiday, after all.

He exited the dressing room, unable to resist a flourish. "Does this meet with your approval, Mr. Holmes?"

Sherlock again found himself gaping, though this time it was in stunned admiration and pride.

"John..." he said, enchanted by the sight of the man he loved in an exquisite pinstriped gray suit and a black shirt. "You look so... _smart."_

It was the highest compliment Sherlock could find; extreme praise from a genius, indeed.

Sherlock took another photo: John's glamour shot.

"Yes, I heartily approve," Sherlock murmured as he replaced his mobile in his pocket. He took John in his arms, and nuzzled against him. "However, I must still insist that you wear your fuzzy jumpers for me. They make you look so... irresistibly cuddly, and I wouldn't trade that for anything, at all, ever."

John put on his sunglasses and grinned.

**Endnote: To view the _actual photos_ (I'm calling them MartinFreeman!Fail and MartinFreeman!Win), go to the sherlockbbc-fic website, Prompting Part xii, page 8, then scroll down to the discussion entitled "This Picture." Click on "thread" to find links to the 2 photos. WARNING: This is a kinkmeme. Mature material at this site! Some readers might be offended! I tried putting direct links here but they did not work.**


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